Of life and love and death.
The purity of air and brook
And song helped me to overlook
The rapine underneath.
"But you—no! one dream more: an elf,
Askip on ochre mountain-shelf,
Who once had seen a man himself.
I used his wand to gauge
The sheen of moths and peacocks' whir,
To plumb the jungle-aisles, to stir